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<title>How Does Your Garden Grow by Liana Mir (scribblemyname)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272182">How Does Your Garden Grow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/Liana%20Mir'>Liana Mir (scribblemyname)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Magical Flirting, Slice of Life, meet cute</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:29:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/Liana%20Mir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Britte blinked owlishly at the morning flowers in the new light of day. Cherry blossoms hung heavily on their branches. The flower and berry bushes had overrun their orderly beds and sprawled out into the garden in radiant, chaotic profusion. Her catastrophic camellias had grown up overnight and stood in a proud circle of bushes, already putting out tea leaves and white flowers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Confused Gardener/Original God of the Garden, Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How Does Your Garden Grow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiodara/gifts">Amiodara</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta by Enisy, any remaining mistakes mine</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The garden was absolutely brutal at night, lush bushes of daytime roses entwined with midnight daisies and sunflowers reaching for the moonlight, sparks of fairy dust wafting through trees to mingle with ordinary pollen, and Britte sneezed thirteen times in succession before successfully planting a single bulb of catastrophic camellia.</p><p>In harvest time, it'd produce exactly the sort of tea that prevented such attacks for the sensitive or allergic, but right now, even the hardiest of flower mages would have trouble convincing their body not to expel all this dust post-haste.</p><p>Britte was a tiny dewdrop of a mage anyway, barely brushing the topside of four feet tall, with dainty features and a build to match. Her body simply wasn't large enough to inhale this much pollen and magic without a sneeze (or thirteen).</p><p>"Softly then," she murmured to the bulbs still waiting in the basket.</p><p>Another breezy gust of magic dust and another three sneezes.</p><p>She laid down each bulb carefully and gently patted the dirt mounds atop them, sneezing at intervals, until she finally sat up, irate, and ordered the wind, "STAY!"</p><p>It roiled and boiled indignantly behind its new shoreline, but she was finally able to finish the job.</p>
<hr/><p>The little wind, which ran between the garden and nearby Bushy Lake (it made sense when one considered its thick skirt of berry bushes), was not a dog. It whirled on itself and went skittering hither to the god of the garden to complain as much.</p><p>He brusquely swatted away the annoyance. "Go bother the trees," he said.</p><p>The wind drew back, resentful, then pressed forward its complaint with renewed aggression, blowing right through the god's thick black hair.</p><p>"Fine, fine! I'll go look." He uncrossed his arms, glared at the wind, and went to go take a look.</p><p>The girl in the garden was so small, it was instantly obvious she was either fairy or flower mage, and not even gods would tangle with fairies. He almost stopped there, but decided if it <em>was</em> a flower mage, he really should take a closer look, so he ordered his cloud to swoop in closer.</p><p>The little mage sat up on her knees, for he could see that she was indeed mage. Then she stared, thunderous, at his favorite storm cloud without seeing him on top of it at all. By her knees were the certain evidences of newly planted flowers, far too delicate to handle a storm.</p><p>She raised one finger. "SHOO!"</p><p>To his utter astonishment, the storm cloud shooed–with him still on it!</p>
<hr/><p>She was cute and dainty, came out daily and tended all the plants, magical or otherwise, with loving care. At least that's what all the flowers and trees and shrubs said. The wind was still waiting impatiently for him to do something about her stopping air or water in its tracks while she was busy gardening.</p><p>Being the sort of god who also stopped bothersome little dutiful breezes and streams from "doing their jobs" while he was doing his, he didn't really see passing judgment on her as reasonable.</p><p>But she was a very pretty, very powerful little woman, and her bright blue eyes flashing fire at him while she sent his storm cloud packing made a picture quite worth seeing.</p>
<hr/><p>Britte blinked owlishly at the morning flowers in the new light of day. Cherry blossoms hung heavily on their branches. The flower and berry bushes had overrun their orderly beds and sprawled out into the garden in radiant, chaotic profusion. Her catastrophic camellias had grown up overnight and stood in a proud circle of bushes, already putting out tea leaves and white flowers.</p><p>Her mouth formed into an oh, breath huffing out of her in surprise. She furrowed her brow in confusion, but gathered her composure and set herself to the task of restoring some semblance of order.</p><p>First, a trip to the shed for pruning shears...</p><p>The next three days involved selling far more cuttings than she'd planned on having and canning the fruits and vegetables she'd mingled in among the flowers. So long as the plant grew blossoms, she had some sort of sway over it and had never hesitated to manage a practical garden. There was oil to press from seeds and regular harvest time activities she wasn't supposed to have to bother with during planting.</p><p>But every morning, more profusion had taken the place of what she'd tamed the day before.</p>
<hr/><p>Magic grew especially at night, blossoming under the moon like a well-tended plant. So Britte went out on one of her night excursions into the garden, armed with tissue boxes and handkerchiefs, along with a large picnic basket full of snacks, and settled in under the largest tree to see what happened.</p><p>What happened was a small storm cloud floated into the garden, then suddenly broadened and a man–no, <em>god</em>–stepped off of it and down next to the passing stream.</p><p>Britte's garden was lovely but not particularly <em>large.</em> He was very large, dominating the entire space just by standing there. Thick black hair curled over the shoulders of his dark green cloak, which glimmered with streams of living magic power. He grinned as he bent near the heads of each corner of the garden's residents and showered them with sparks of growing, blessing magic.</p><p>"Grow nice and strong for the lady," he ordered them in a voice that rumbled like the storm cloud he rode.</p><p>Britte's mouth had dropped open at some point. A god was in her garden. A god was making it grow to harvest ready in <em>planting</em> season.</p><p>When he reached Britte’s tree, he looked taken aback. "Are you planting again?" he asked after a moment in that rumbly voice.</p><p>She closed her mouth abruptly and stood up. "What are you doing?" she asked, finding her voice, even if she sounded terribly confused and not at all like someone he ought to pay attention to. "It's not harvest time!"</p><p>His eyebrows rose. "I thought you'd like them."</p><p>Blank.</p><p>She was drawing a nice, empty blank on why in the world that would be on the garden god's radar. "Why would that matter?" she finally demanded.</p><p>He was looking equally confused, scratching the back of his neck, then sighed and reached into unreality (or wherever it was the gods pulled their new creations from), and handed her a sacred golden bell, and she nearly squeaked in shock. Golden bell flowers bestowed the genuine approval of the gods, blessings and good fortune so long as they were well cared for.</p><p>It was also known as something gods only handed out to the romantic object of their current affections.</p><p>Britte stared at it for the longest moment. The garden was at its quietest. Even the stream and wind had hushed themselves to see how she'd react.</p><p>Her violent sneeze broke the silence and she scrabbled for words in the aftermath: "You can't just court a woman you've never met!" she finally burst out all at once.</p><p>He tilted his head and blinked at her, then bent way, way down to meet her gaze directly with warm, brown eyes that might as well have been a puppy's, for how appealing they were. Her fortitude quailed under those eyes.</p><p>"What would you suggest?" he asked.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day, each and every one of Britte's customers at the little flower and herbs shop came in, smiled, then stopped smiling and did a double take at the giant of a man working down the rows with her. He had long, bushy black hair, a green cloak that practically radiated divine splendor, and the flowers all pointed his way just like he was the sun.</p><p>"Good morning to you!" He waved with a cheerful shout and then sent that beaming grin toward the more familiar proprietor, Britte.</p><p>A golden bell-shaped flower currently occupied the best spot in the garden, and she had a date this evening with an actual god, some other god help her. (Preferably a goddess of happy-ever-after romance.)</p><p>Britte smiled sunnily. "How can I help you today?"</p>
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